


Freefallin'

by weekendoffender



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-02-10
Updated: 2011-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-15 13:38:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekendoffender/pseuds/weekendoffender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He doesn't know when it started, when this distance took over. Everything was fine between them, and then it wasn't. He knows he ignored it at the start, which is why he can't quite pinpoint when it happened; when Martin stopped being, well, Martin. His Martin anyway."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He doesn't know when it started, when this distance took over. Everything was fine between them, and then it wasn't. He knows he ignored it at the start, which is why he can't quite pinpoint when it happened; when Martin stopped being, well, Martin. His Martin anyway.

At first he thought it was his injury. Maybe it was hard for Martin to be apart from him. Except he wasn't, not really. A few hours in the morning for practice, one night every week or two for away games, the afternoon of matchday. That wasn't much time, if he really thought about it. Martin always came straight home afterwards so there wasn't much missed time at all.

Then he thought it was stress. Their bad season, Dan's injury being so much more than they ever though. Martin was never the most talkative person, tended to keep his emotions bottled up until they threatened to explode. But he didn't seem overly stressed. And he seemed happy enough in all the training pictures Dan would find online. Always happy, always smiling. At training anyway.

So that really only left Dan. And that's not a thought he wants to rest on; why the man he loves seems so detached from his... their life now. So he doesn't rest on it, he acts on it instead. Tries to be the best boyfriend he can to... to what? He doesn't honestly know. To show Martin that he's still here. He still loves and cares about him, he supposes. So he gives everything 110%. Every morning he gets out of bed before Martin, puts on a pot of coffee and starts breakfast. He has the house clean before Martin gets home. Has clothes fresh from the dryer when Martin has finished his shower. The bed is always made and he's got a whole folder on his computer dedicated to Slovakian recipes.

Except Martin still doesn't smile at him. Doesn't do anything, really.

He doesn't know what to do next, how to act. Can he even really fix this? He wants to... but he doesn't. He loves Martin, loves him more than anything. Wants to marry him and raise a family together in his perfect fantasy world. A fantasy world where Martin smiles at him all day. Where he kisses him because he wants to, not because he feels he has to. Where he talks to Dan, laughs with Dan and things are like they were 6 months ago.

But this isn't his fantasy world. Not anymore.

His Prince Charming has left him.


	2. Chapter 2

"Do you still love me?"

You whispered it into the darkness of your bedroom. You weren't even sure if Martin was awake when you'd said it, couldn't tell because he was on the other side of the bed with his back turned to you. But he was, it turned out. He was awake because in seconds Martin was on you and you spent the night making love in a way you hadn't since the very beginnings of you relationship. If you were more emotional you think you would have cried from the beauty of it. Of the way Martin moved under you, of the way his face seemed to shine with such love and devotion in the moonlight. Absolute love. Something you hadn't seen in weeks. Maybe even months, if you're honest. It was perfect and amazing and as you collapsed on Martin's chest, his hands wrapped around your waist as he pressed kisses to your forehead, you thought maybe everything was ok again.

But reality has a way of crushing such hopes.

You can't work out what happened, exactly. All you know is you're woken up to Martin, gently but not gently enough, pushing you off his chest. Your morning greeting is met with a grunt and a turn of the head as he stalks off to the shower and you have the fleeting thought of joining him. Fleeting because a second later the bathroom door is slammed shut.

You lay there for several seconds in shock, your eyes never leaving the bathroom door. Last night was... last night Martin was yours. All yours as he writhed underneath you, panting and moaning and in the end crying out your name into the darkness. You saw love in his eyes last night; eyes that never left yours the whole time you were moving inside him. At least that's what you thought you saw. Hoped...

And you can't help but think that your mind must have been playing tricks on you.

So you get up, pull on the closest pair of boxers you can find and make your way downstairs to start breakfast.

As you sit at the table, coffee in hand and your eyes on the frying pan, you're hit with the sudden realisation that this isn't working. This plan of yours to show Martin whatever you thought your little house-husband routine would show him. Three weeks you've been doing this, three weeks of cleaning and cooking and making everything fucking perfect, while you're injured, has accomplished nothing. Martin still doesn't smile at you, only talks to you when he needs to and only kisses you when it's 'appropriate'.

But then, what was last night?

The eggs are done and you plate them up with a couple slices of toast and a glass of juice just as Martin walks into the kitchen. If he notices the way you practically dump his plate on the table, he doesn't comment. Just grunts his thanks and you leave him alone to eat as you make your way into the living room to watch the morning news. Well to stare at it blankly anyway, you're mind is too busy to pay any attention to what's happening on the television. Over and over you replay the night before in your head; analysing every touch, every look, every kiss. Trying to find something that you missed.

You thought last night was so perfect it could have brought you to tears. But as Martin walks though the living room, stopping to kiss the top of your head as he makes his way to the front door, your eyes well up like they haven't in years. And the moment the door closes, you can't hold it back anymore.

You don't know how long you sit on the couch sobbing, unmoving. Long enough for the TV to turn itself off and for your leg, tucked under yourself, to start throbbing in pain. A throbbing that goes unnoticed, for the pain of your heart breaking feels infinitely worse.


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks it's been. Two weeks since you dropped your little house husband act. Two weeks you've done nothing but take care of yourself and your own chores. At first Martin didn't notice, just went about his day like usual. But after a few days of you not cooking his food, not cleaning his clothes and not doing his dishes did he finally take notice. It started off with looks; frowns when you walked out of the kitchen with only one plate of food, stares when you left half of the dishes sitting on the sink. It ended in Martin confronting you, asking why you'd "gone weird and stopped doing housework?” To which you replied that you were "sick of being a housebitch and if you don't like it then you can fuck off". He left you alone after that.

You got the call a few days later from your doctor informing you that you were ready to go back to light training. You were ecstatic and terrified all at once. Going back to training meant spending more time with Martin out of the house. It meant being ignored in front of the rest of the team. The team that you were pretty sure had no idea what was happening between you and Martin. So you went out to celebrate (to drink the worry away), called up a few friends and made your way to your favourite bar for a night filled with easy laughs and too much beer. It was the best night you'd had in months. Cheap beer, darts and pool, flirting with the bar staff, crude jokes with friends. It was perfect and amazing and then it was time to go home. And then it felt like the worst night of your life.

You step out of the cab, throw some cash at the driver and collapse against your front door. And you cry. You cry because you don't want to come home. You cry because you don't want to go back to training. You cry because it hurts, everything always hurts. And by the time the tears stop, you're sick and tired of crying. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. What a fucking cliché.

It takes a few minutes to get yourself upright, your legs feel like jelly and the alcohol lurches in your stomach. But you get there, push yourself up and make your way inside. Once you get to the bottom of the stairs your bedroom light flicks on and then there's Martin. He's standing in the door way; naked body framed by the light, eyes full of sleep and god he looks beautiful. You nearly cry all over again.

"Danny? Where have you been? It's late."

"Out... pub."

"Why didn't you answer my calls? I didn't know where you were."

"Didn't hear my phone."

"Well fuck, I was worried!"

You snort at that, shaking your head in disbelief which causes you to trip up the stairs, landing at Martin's feet. He pulls you up, tries to manoeuvre you to the bedroom but you push at him angrily and he lets go when you take a swing. It would never have connected, you're too drunk to throw a proper punch, but he gets the message.

"Dan, what the fuck? Why are you acting like this?!"

You stare at him dumbfounded. You can't believe he's acting like he cares now, after all these weeks, months even. Like he has a right to care. You stare at him as he slowly steps towards you, reaches out his arms and gently tries to move you towards the bedroom again, murmurs that he'll turn the shower on for you. And a shower sounds really good right now, really fucking good. You feel the fight leave you as you pass into the bedroom and Martin's hands are ever so gently pulling your clothes off as you shuffle closer towards the shower. Within minutes you're standing under the warm spray with Martin running a washcloth over your back. You turn around, try to push him away but your arms are too heavy to do much more than hold onto him. You watch as he steps closer, pulls you to his chest and runs shampoo through your hair. And all of a sudden it's all too much, too close, too loving and you have to work to calm yourself down, to breathe steady and to loosen your hands from digging bruises into his biceps.

After Martin rinses the shampoo from your hair he rests his head on your shoulder and lightly kisses your neck. You're mind starts spinning and you have to clamp your mouth shut to stop a sob from escaping. Or maybe vomit, you're not quite sure, because your stomach is doing back flips. It's all too loving and after a minute you just can't handle it.

"Why don't you love me anymore?"

You try to tell yourself that it's water dripping down your neck, not Martin's tears.


	4. Chapter 4

It turns out he cheated on you. Yep, that's right. He cheated on you. And dear god, you never saw that coming.

He told you after that shower. He took you to bed, made love to you (not sex, not just fucking, but fucking love) and confessed only seconds after he pulled out of you. Told you that it was during a National friendly, that his team mates had started harassing him after they tried and failed to hook him up with several women. He couldn't tell them about you because they're not "like that, not like the lads at Liverpool". So he got drunk. And fucked. Some blonde thing with big tits and you asked him to shut up at that point.

So that's it, there was the truth. You didn't yell or scream at him. You didn't throw a punch (or throw up). No, nothing like that. You simply rested your head on his chest for a few seconds to gather yourself then got up and made your way to the spare room. Where you've been sleeping now for two and a half weeks.

You want to move out but you have no where to go. You want Martin to move out but he has no where to go.

Ok, you don't really want either of those if you're honest with yourself, but you figure that's what people who've been cheated on should feel like. But you just can't bring yourself to feel like that because Martin's been trying, he really has. Trying like you were all those weeks ago. Trying to save this seemingly one sided relationship. You go to bed every night alone but wake in the morning to the extra pillow smelling of Martin and the lingering feeling of his hand on your chest. When you make your way downstairs he has breakfast ready for you and the days newspaper is waiting on the table. He treats you like everything is fine at training, laughs and jokes, smiles at you in the same way you saw him smiling in those training photos online. He carries your bags to the car, cooks dinner, washes your clothes and you feel loved. And powerful. So fucking powerful after so many months spend feeling like dirt beneath Martin's shoes. And you wonder if he felt like this when you were acting as the house husband.

And you wonder how long it will last.


End file.
